


Desperate Measures

by Corycides



Series: 100 Fics in 100 Days [10]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Dark!Miles, F/M, Preseries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maggie had met Miles before, a long time ago when she was even more desperate than they were now. He didn't remember, but she did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Measures

Maggie lay on the narrow cot, listening to the distant splutter and cought, and counted days on her way to sleep.

Five weeks she'd been here, she realised.

It was the longest Maggie had spent in one place since the Blackout, and her skin was itching with guilt and the need to move on. Maybe her one chance of getting home was out there? Maybe if she waited one more day the boat would leave without her – and it would be the last boat.

But she was still a doctor, and she couldn't leave children to die of diptheria. Although too many did even with her there. They didn't the facilities or equipment they needed – and Maggie couldn't help wondering how much worse it would get. Herd immunity was already shot and with no vaccines being made how long before scarlet fever and chicken pox were endemic again? Polio. Typhoid. A variety of plagues.

Maggie tried not to let those thoughts linger before bed. She wanted to dream about her boys, not death. Besides, helping these people was taking enough time from her search, she couldn't afford to worry about people she couldn't see. 

'Doctor!' one of the women burst into Maggie's bedroom, shoving a tattered curtain out of the way. Her narrow, tanned face was drawn and grey-tinged with fear. 'Harry's getting worse.'

Maggie dragged herself out of bed and splashed water in her face, rubbing cold fingers around the back of her neck. Weariness tugged at her bones, but she made herself head briskly for the door. 'What's wrong?'

The woman – not Harry's mother, Maggie remembered, but his aunt – dashed tears out of her eyes with one hand. 'His neck is all swollen, doctor,' she said and tapped her fingers against her chest. 'And he can't seem to breathe.'

The lymph nodes. Damn it. Maggie stretched her legs, leaving the other woman struggling in her wake. Not running – a running doctor makes everyone panic – but definitely walking faster. The make-shift infirmary was in the gym of the old school. There weren't patients sleeping on the floor anymore, but the ones in the bed weren't getting better.

Maggie put her doctor-smile on when she got to Harry's bed. He was a bright little thing, usually, but he didn't even smile today. His breath was wheezing in his throat and he was hot and dry, his forehead sticky against her palm.

'How you feeling, honey?' she asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He made a pettish, whingy noise and plucked at the sheets.

'Not good,' he mumbled, sounding muffled.

'Huh-uh?' Maggie said. She put her thumb on his Can you open your mouth?'

He did and she peered inside. The back of his throat was webbed with grey discharge. She looked him over quickly, finding fresh, raw lesions on his legs. Maggie tucked him back on and scrubbed her hands, checking on the rest of her patients. They were all getting worse.

Maggie did what she could to make them comfortable and went to see the unofficial mayor of the town; Hannah Kendall, a tightly-wound police woman with a well-established tic under her right eye.

'We need medicine,' Maggie said, sitting down.

Kendall snorted and reached for the stack of papers on her desk, flipping through it with her thumb. Her mouth twisted. 'We also need food, a clean water source and weapons,' she said. 'Not to mention someone to repair our bridge, roof our houses and... Needing isn't getting.'

'Then people are going to die.'

Sighing, Kendall squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed the space between her eyebrows. 'There's a hospital in Manchester. I don't know if there's anything left there, though.'

'I'll make a list,' Maggie said, pushing herself up out of the chair.

'No,' Kendall said. 'I can't spare anyone to go. If you want it, you need to get it.'

Arguing did no good, so that afternoon Maggie saddled up a horse – that they could spare apparently – and set off in the rain for Manchester. She tugged her waterproof over her head, water dripping onto her nose, and tried to rationalise not going back. With the horse she could get to the coast, find a boat...maybe...and Harry would die...definitely.

So she kept riding. 

Manchester was occupied by one of the nasty little militia's that had sprung up in the last few years. A black and white flag flapped from the scarred, stained walls and shabby tents, all dyed a uniform shade of brown, were set up outside the gates. Hard-faced men in dark uniforms, carrying guns over their shoulders, strode along the cracked road.

Crap. Maggie dismounted and walked into the city, keeping her head down and the horse between her and anyone paying attention. Most of the time she tried to avoid these little encampments – after that time in Dakota – but it would be fine, there was no reason for anyone to pay her attention.

She got directions to the nearest lodgings and tethered her horse outside. Inside a fat teenager slouched behind a desk, a metal crowbar propped against his leg.

'How much for a room?' Maggie asked.

'The militia has all the rooms,' he said. 'There's bed-rolls in the attic. Not great.'

'It'll do.'

She traded a bottle of whiskey – checking the seal discretely to make sure it was the right bottle – for the space and information on where to get medicine. He didn't like telling her that, his mouth going prim and responsible, but he did.

A man called Drexel in the Old Fire Station. The kid drew her a map that led her to a huge, red-brick building with narrow windows and doors guarded by hard-faced militia. Maggie stumbled and, after a second of debate, went to walk by. Too late. A sandy-haired man strode after her.

'Hey, you, stay there.'  
Maggie stopped and tried to look harmless. It shouldn't be hard, she was. 

'I was just...looking for Drexel,' she said, keeping her eyes focused on his buttoned up collar. 'Not any trouble.'

'Drexel's in a meeting,' he said, reaching out and flicking her hood back. 'But I'm sure they'll not mind an interruption from you.'

He crooked his arm and offered it gallantly. When she risked a look up he was smiling pleasantly at her, but there was a coldness in his eyes. Refuse the gallant, and he'd have other faces. She twitched her lips in a smile and put her hand in his, letting him escort her into the building.

The smell of vinegar and sour sweat hit Maggie when they stepped inside. Junkies sprawled on benches or on the floor, vague-eyed and absent. One girl, so skinny the skimpy blue dress she wore sagged rather than clung, was fucking a dark haired man with mechanical determination. Another militia soldier sprawled on the couch next to them, drinking whiskey as he waited his turn.'

'Charming isn't it,' her escort muttered in her ear. 'It's like the corner of Clap and Sad.'

She wasn't into the mood to laugh, but that surprised her into a snort. The drunk glanced her way and raised dark eyebrows.

'What you got there?' he said, rolling off the couch.

'Not for you, Miles,' Jeremy said. 'She's here to see Drexel.'

The man under the girl laughed and slapped her grinding ass. 'I'm a bit busy right now, darlin,' he drawled. He cocked his head and gave her the once over. 'But if you're willing to wait...'

'Fuck off, Drezler,' Miles said, reaching out to tug one of her curls. 'You can't have all the pretty girls.'

Tension twisted tight in Maggie's gut. She breathed through her mouth, trying to ignore the stink in the air. 'I came to buy medication,' she said. 'Nothing else.'

Drexel pursed his lips, eyes cold and measuring despite the slack flush of his face. 'Like what? Heroin? Crack?'

'Medicine, not drugs.'

'Look around you, sweetheart,' he laughed. 'My medicine's for the soul.'

'I need Metronidazole,' Maggie said, hearing her vowels going even more English than usual. 'And Diptheria anti-toxin.'

He looked surprised, but after a quick mental inventory shrugged. 'Fine. You give my friend Miles here a good time,' he said. 'A real good time, and I'll give you it.'

Maggie shook her head. 'I don't need to whore. I can pay.'

Drexel's mouth quirked expressively. 'See, that might be true, but you haven't got anything that can compare to my man Miles' here's good opinion. So fuck him, or fuck off.'

Miles smirked. 'You're a good friend, Drexel.'

She opened her mouth to pick the fuck-off option, but the thought of Harry's pinched face stilled her. If one of her boys was sick, she'd want someone to get them medicine. No matter what it took. 

'Fine,' she said, sheddding her jacket and reaching up to unbutton her shirt. 'Here?

'No,' Miles said, slinging an arm around her shoulder. He nuzzled her ear through her hair, breath spirit-ridden enough it made her feel dizzy to smell. 'Lady like you, English, you get a bed.'

He dragged her off to a side room that was made-up as a bedroom. Or 'tart's boudoir' as Maggie's mum would call it, all cheap flocked velvet and stains. It looked like Drexel had a hand in local prostitution as well as drug-dealing. He was an enterprising little low-life, wasn't he.

'Let's get this over with,' Maggie said.

Miles laughed and pulled her hair loose, combing it out around her face with his fingers. She stiffened, clenching her jaw. He scraped a rough thumb down her jaw.

'A good time, Drexel said,' Miles reminded her. 'If I just needed a warm hole, there's plenty out there.'

Lovely. Maggie reached for his belt and jerked it free. 'Maybe you should get a girlfriend then?

He clenched his hand in her hair, knuckles digging into the back of her skull, and forced her down onto her knees. His smile was a humorous slice across his face. 'I just bled for this shit-hole,' he told pleasantly. 'My best friend got stabbed by some shit-shoed farmer and I am not in the mood to be dicked around by you. So either smile pretty and act like you're grateful, or be a bitch and I'll hurt you. I get off either way, so it's up to you.'

Maggie winced as he twisted her hair tighter, pulling her neck at an uncomfortable angle. She dredged up her doctor-smile from somewhere and ran her hands up his thighs. 'I can be nice.'

'Prove it.'

She kept on smiling as she unbuttoned his trousers and got his dick out, wrapping slim, nail-bitten fingers around the limp length of him. The grip in her hair relaxed but didn't let go. She opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around him, tongue flicking over his skin. At least he was clean, she thought, like that made it better.

He let her set the pace, licking her way down his shaft and flicking her tongue over his balls. His breath sucked in and out of his chest in ragged, quickening pants, fingers flexing against her skull. It took a while for him to harden, probably due to the amount he'd just drunk.

'See? Isn't that better?' he said, stepping back. His dick jutted from between his thighs, shiny with her spit. He sat back on the bed, legs spread, and stroked himself lazily. 'Take your clothes off.'

Maggie went to wipe her mouth, but he made a rough, warning sound so she left it. Still kneeling she unbuttoned her shirt and shrugged it off, revealing pale skin and a sensible white bra. She felt oddly, stupidly, embarrassed about that. As if this had been her idea, and she'd not put the effort in. Reaching back she fumbled with the hooks, fingers nervous as a boy on his first date, and finally got the hooks loose. She let the straps slide down her arms, revealing small, pale breasts with dark rose nipples. Standing up she kicked off her boots and shoved her trousers down over her lean hips, stepping out of the tangle of denim on the ground.

Dark eyes looked her over with a hot appreciation, his tongue dabbing his lower lip. He stretched out one leg. 'Take my boots off.'

She bit her cheek and hunched over, pulling her shoulders in uncomfortably, to yank at the laces. 'No,' he said. 'On your knees.'

This time she bit her cheek till she could taste blood, kneeling on the floor pulling this murderer's boots off like some parody of a traditional housewife. She yanked off one and then the other, tossing them both under the bed. Hopefully he'd have to crawl to get them back. Hardly equitable, but she'd take what she could get.

Maggie stood up and grabbed his trousers, tugging them down over lean, scarred thighs dusted with dark hair. He lay back on the bed, propped on his elbows.

'Now fuck me,' he said, hooded eyes hungry. 

She crawled onto the bed, straddling his thighs, and guided his cock inside her. It hurt a little at first, stretching her too-dry sex painfully. She grabbed his shoulders, fingers digging into heavy muscle, and kept her face still and pleasant as she moved on top of him. Despite what she wanted, her body decided to make it all easier, making her wet and hot around his dick.

A groan shuddered up out of his chest when she rolled her hips and slid her hands up under his shirt, tracing the lines of hard muscle – the doctor in her listing his scars and how lucky he was to be alive – and flicking his flat, tight nipples. Rough hands grabbed her hips and rolled them over, squashing her into his mattress. He kissed her roughly, mouth rough and slanting, as he drove himself into her with hard, bruising thrusts.

It hurt, a dull ache in her hipbones, but she felt an unwelcome tickle of orgasm too. It tugged at her stomach, coiling around each thrust as he jarred her body awkwardly. She hung onto his shoulders and wrapped her legs around, trying to find the rhythm that drove him. Her heels dug into the hard muscles of his thighs.

He finally came with a satisfied grunt, hips bumping against hers as he spilled his load inside her. It didn't matter, Maggie reassured herself, she'd have antibiotics and she had enough hoarded birth control to make sure she didn't have any physical relics of this encounter.

Miles sprawled on top of her, a too-warm, booze-sweaty weight that grumbled when she tried to shift him. Dropping that idea she ran her fingers through his hair instead, muttering an unconvincing 'you were great.'

'What did you want anti-toxin for?' he asked, biting the angle of her throat hard enough to make her flinch. 

'There's an outbreak a few towns over,' she said carefully. 'Kids. We looked it up in the library.'

He rolled off her then, looking almost uncomfortable. 'Drexel will fix you up,' he said, earnest as any drunk. 'I'll make sure of it. I got a niece and nephew out there, don't know where. Figure I'd want someone to help them.'

His hand, tanned dark against her skin, slid down to her stomach. She stiffened. 'It's ok, you don't have to.'

'I want to,' he said, pushing two fingers inside her. The flex of his fingers made her moan, feet kicking at the re-stained silk uncomfortably. He thrust them into slowly, every few thrusts pulling back enough to scrap his fingertips over her clitoris. 

By the time he got her off, her body clamping tight around his fingers, he was hard again. Whatever qualms he'd felt over interrupting her mission of mercy were forgotten until they were finished.

He was true to his word though. Drexel gave her more than she'd asked for, full spectrum antibiotics, tranquillisers, painkillers, supplies and scalpels. Maggie hated that she thought 'worth it'. She grabbed it and left, ignoring Drexel's advice that she ask Miles for more.

'He liked you. Man doesn't like anyone,' Drexel said, his version of helpful, wanted advice. 'Reap the benefits while you can. He can keep you safe, who else can promise that any more?'

Maggie just grabbed the bag and left. She crossed the whiskey bottle off as sunk costs and grabbed her horse without using the space she'd bought in the attic.

By the time she got there, Harry was dead anyhow.

Years later she saw him again in a bar, older and sadder. She'd never made the connections in her head, never thought Ben's rarely spoken off brother had been this Miles. He didn't remember her.


End file.
